


beaten, bloody, and bruised

by InfinityJay



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Daddy Issues, Flirting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Swearing, if u can call it that, lets be real they have daddy issues its a Thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-28 19:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18762574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfinityJay/pseuds/InfinityJay
Summary: Fuck this guy. Fuck him for waking Guan Shan up at two in the morning. Fuck him for making him feel bad enough to take care of him. Fuck him for confusing the hell out of him. Fuck him for making Guan Shan actually think about fucking him.ORHe Tian got into a fight and calls the wrong person for help.





	beaten, bloody, and bruised

**Author's Note:**

> ayo here's some more trash take a fuckin sip babes.

Without even checking the caller ID, Mo Guan Shan knows who it is. Only one dumbass would try to bother him at three in the damn morning. God, he just wants to sleep. Is that too much to ask?

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s three AM. Why the fuck are you calling me right now? Why are you even calling me at all, shithead? God, you’re so annoying, you know that?” he grumbles into the receiver, rubbing at his tired eyes.

He pauses for a response, but only hears heavy breathing. “What, you call me and you’re not even gonna say anything? What is this, a slasher film? You gonna ask if I’ve checked on the children, yet? I’m boutta block your ass,” he threatens, temper climbing with each word.

“…Mo…” He Tian whispers, so low Guan Shan almost mistakes it for a breath. All of the insults he was about to fling die in his throat. “I got,” a pause and a sharp intake of breath, “in a fight.”

Any thoughts of sleep disappear.

“Where are you?” Guan Shan demands, now wide awake. His shoes are on his feet in seconds, and he’s already heading for the door by the time He Tian can answer.

There’s another long beat of quiet, and he’s worried He Tian hung up or passed out. Finally, he answers, “Behind the… That store.”

That’s not at all helpful. The annoyance that spikes in Guan Shan is undercut by his worry. “What store? Where are you, dammit?” he grits out, bordering on desperation.

The night air chills him to the bone, but he doesn’t notice, can’t notice. Street lamps race by, and Guan Shan peeks down every alley he passes, heart pumping and breath heavy.

“The one that sells those little coconut cakes,” He Tian offers unhelpfully, but Guan Shan knows the one. It shouldn’t be more than a six- or seven-minute run away. Maybe five if he’s desperate, and he is.

“I’m on my way,” he huffs into his phone, “don’t move.” Then, he adds, just in case, “Unless whoever you got into a fight with is still there. In which case, do move.”

A weak laugh on the other end of the call turns into a cough and Guan Shan’s heart skips a beat. “Didn’t know you cared that much,” He Tian teases, and he can hear that damn smirk in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t,” he says, even as he’s sprinting as fast as he can. “I’m gonna hang up and if you die before I get there, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, no shi-“

Guan Shan ends the call before he can finish. His quads burn, but he doesn’t slow down. Without He Tian’s voice, or at the very least his breathing, in his ear, his heart clenches. So much can happen in a few short minutes. He turns left, then right, left, takes a shortcut through an alley, cuts across an empty street.

The store that sells the coconut cakes is dark when he gets there. The glow of the streetlamp washes over it, causing the fading colors to appear a sickly orange. No one’s around. He swallows, on edge, and reaches for his phone in his pocket, but stops. He Tian said he was behind the store.

“He Tian?” he calls softly, hoping no one else is around. The thought of He Tian’s opponent sticking around clings to the back of his mind like gum. “You here?”

Soft thunder rumbles in the distance, and Guan Shan hopes he can find He Tian before it starts raining. He hurries around the side of the building, to where he’s seen the back entrance, before. Save for the occasional car, the back lot is usually empty. At first, he doesn’t see anyone. His heartrate spikes.

Then, he spots a foot peeking out from behind the dumpster against the wall. It disappears, drawing back behind the dumpster, as soon as Guan Shan spots it. He starts, his heartbeat banging in his ears.

“He Tian, that you?” he whispers into the night air, hesitating in his steps. Part of him is afraid of what he’ll find when he rounds the dumpster. The only thing that can subdue He Tian is death. At least, that’s what Guan Shan thought.

“What would you do if it was?” He Tian answers with an unsteady voice, the tell-tale smirk in his tone. Even beaten bloody, he’s being facetious.

Guan Shan rushes around the dumpster, heart beating against his chest like his ribcage. There He Tian is, sitting on the pavement with his back against the wall, his hand holding his side and blood smeared over his cheek. Whether the blood is from his nose or the cut under his eye, Guan Shan can’t be sure.

When his hooded eyes catch Guan Shan, he grins bloody teeth up at him. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Guan Shan breathes, stopped in his tracks.

Dark eyebrows bend with levity. “Jesus had nothin’ to do with this,” He Tian grumbles and coughs. When he spits a fat glob of blood into the dirt beside him, Guan Shan’s shocked back into movement.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, falling to his knees beside He Tian and checking him over for any serious injuries. “What happened to you?”

Bruises that are already purpling dot his arms and face and, most frighteningly, his neck. A suspiciously hand-shaped bruise curves around his throat, and Guan Shan’s stomach twists. “Nah,” He Tian answers. “I’m feeling great, I could totally run a 5k right now. Yes, I’m fucking hurt. I got into a fight, I told you that.”

Guan Shan sits back on his heels, irritation at his own helplessness setting his teeth on edge “Why the hell did you call me instead of an ambulance, dumbass?” he grits out, studying the slow blink He Tian gives him. His eyes are clouded, not entirely focused.

Ignoring the wince he gets in response, he grabs He Tian’s free arm and lifts him to his feet. He Tian hisses in pain and braces his arm over Guan Shan’s shoulders. To steady him, Guan Shan’s arms encircle his waist, careful of the spot he’s favoring.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I called you. I think I might have a concussion.”

“Yikes,” Guan Shan comments, because it’s the first thing that comes to his mind. He immediately hates himself for it. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

He Tian jerks out of Guan Shan’s grip, surprising both of them, and stumbles back against the dumpster. When his spine meets the edge of it, he grunts. “No,” he growls. “No hospitals.”

This guy is going to be the death of him. “The fuck? You’re probably concussed, you need to get to a hospital.”

“No.”

Now, his irritation zeroes in on He Tian. “For once, stop being a stubborn bitch,” Guan Shan enthuses, and reaches out to grab his arm again, only for He Tian to step back from him.

“No.” Guan Shan throws his arms out in his annoyance, overwhelmed with the sudden urge to add another bruise to He Tian’s mottled skin. He holds back, though, in the interest of keeping his own head. An injured He Tian is not a helpless He Tian.

He Tian continues, “We go back to my house, yours, or I stay right the fuck here.” For emphasis, he jabs his index finger down at the ground by his feet. His usually intimidating demeanor is undermined by the blood covering his face and the angry bruise over his jaw.

Guan Shan weighs his options. There’s no fucking way he’s bringing a beaten and battered He Tian into his home, at least not while his mother is there. The fucker absolutely refuses to go to a hospital for some reason. He Tian doesn’t bluff, either; if he says he’ll stay there, he’ll stay there. That leaves one option.

“Fuck it, fine,” he says, running his hand down his face. Weariness pulls down his muscles, and severely diminishes his willpower to fight He Tian on this. “How do we get to your house from here?”

Guan Shan reaches out to help him, and He Tian meets him in the middle, leaning heavily against him. His labored breath blows hot against Guan Shan’s ear and blood smears on his shirt, but he barely notices. He curls his hand around He Tian’s side.

“This way,” He Tian breathes, nodding towards a street.

One step at a time, they struggle, slowly, painstakingly, to He Tian’s apartment. Without the adrenaline in his bloodstream, the chill cuts straight to Guan Shan’s skin, but He Tian is warm against him. They don’t talk much, save for Guan Shan’s annoyed muttering about dumbasses that get into fights and call him at all hours of the night when they get their asses handed to them.

Fortunately, they don’t pass anyone on their way through He Tian’s building. In the elevator, He Tian leans against the back wall, granting Guan Shan a reprieve from carrying him. Still, Guan Shan presses his palms against his chest, just in case. He bends his neck back until his head thumps against the metal, eyes closed and hand pressed to his side.

“Whoa, hey, don’t go falling asleep and slipping into a coma,” Guan Shan warns, hoping his apprehension isn’t slipping into his voice. He pokes him in the ribs when he doesn’t get a reaction.

He Tian’s brow furrows. “Careful,” he warns without opening his eyes.

In his apartment, he stumbles to his bed and collapses, pushing his forehead into the sheets. Half-dried blood rubs off onto the fabric, and Guan Shan dies a little inside. That’ll be tough to clean out and, knowing He Tian, it’ll be Guan Shan that’ll wash it.

“Get up, shithead,” Guan Shan mumbles, and tugs He Tian back up into a sitting position. He pats him on the cheek, watching his bleary eyes blink open. “First aid kit?”

He Tian rubs at his nose, then winces. “Bathroom. Under the sink.”

When Guan Shan comes back with the kit, he tosses it onto the bed and kneels between He Tian’s knees. With a wet towel, he wipes at the blood on his face. His movements are slow and gentle, but He Tian still flinches away when he rubs at a bruise. It doesn’t look like he has any serious head injuries, but Guan Shan can’t be too careful. He’s definitely acting concussed.

Slow, half-closed eyes track his every movement. Instead of looking suspicious, though, He Tian’s expression conveys only languid amusement. “You know,” he says, “I could do this myself.”

“Fine,” Guan Shan says and climbs to his feet. “If you want to, do it.” He tosses away the towel and climbs to his feet, arms crossed.

He Tian gazes at the wet towel soaking a spot into his sheet, then drags his eyes up to Guan Shan’s face. “I take it back. Take care of me.”

Guan Shan rolls his eyes so hard it hurts, but returns to his spot between He Tian’s knees, anyway. The bruises on his neck stretch down over his collarbone and, Guan Shan sees when tugs the collar of his shirt back, further down his chest to where he can’t see. In frustration, Guan Shan huffs and pulls He Tian’s arm away from his side to take off his shirt. He ignores the heat burning his ears.

He Tian obediently raises his arms over his head to help, though he sways without the support. “You know, I kind of like seeing you on your knees like this,” he teases with an easy grin on his face.

“Eat shit,” Guan Shan responds, but he’s not really listening. He’s more distracted by the pandemonium of red and blue covering his skin.

Where He Tian’s hand had been braced, over the base of his ribcage on his right side, a dark, angry bruise blankets his skin. Grimacing, He Tian covers it with his hand again, fingers tense. “Jesus,” Guan Shan comments, sitting back on his heels. “What did this? A train?”

With a weak chuckle, He Tian says, “Something like that.”

In all, He Tian has: a concussion, probably, a few cracked or broken ribs, probably, a split lip and a cut inside his mouth, split knuckles, too many bruises to count, and a case of raging idiocy. Of course, nothing can be diagnosed for sure, since He Tian refused to go to a fucking hospital. But that might just be a symptom of that last one.

Guan Shan can’t do much for the split lip or broken ribs, so he turns his attention to the bloody knuckles. Beneath the drying blood and the fresh wounds, pale scars crisscross his knuckles. The palms of his hands are rough, but his lithe fingers are delicate in Guan Shan’s hold. It’s hard for Guan Shan to think of any part of He Tian as delicate after the many times He Tian has been less than delicate with him.

When he finishes wrapping bandages around He Tian’s knuckles and gives him some painkillers, he closes the first aid kit and returns it to its place below the bathroom sink. It’s almost four, but Guan Shan is wide awake. Fuck He Tian for getting into a fight, for calling him, for worrying him. Seeing him hunched over behind the dumpster… Guan Shan can’t get the image out of his head.

He’d wanted to ask questions. Who did he fight? Why’d they fight? How did he get beat up so bad? He Tian’s a good fighter; Guan Shan knows that from experience. Why was he so adamant on avoiding a hospital? The last one itches him most.

Instead of asking, though, he patched He Tian up silently, stewing, and He Tian didn’t offer any answers. What a fucking way to start his weekend.

He Tian whines for a solid five minutes about wanting to sleep, despite Guan Shan’s warnings (read: threats) about comas. Finally, Guan Shan concedes and storms off. If he ends up in a coma, that’s his problem. In the meantime, Guan Shan’s more than willing to eat his food.

Guan Shan shucks off his shoes by the front door and shoves his feet into He Tian’s slippers. He could be in bed, asleep, right now. But instead, he’s in He Tian’s kitchen, sifting through his fridge and wishing where his life went wrong. His mom’s surely going to freak out when she wakes up and he’s gone. Pausing in his search, he shoots off a quick text telling his mom he’s not dead, just wishing he were.

Most of the food in He Tian’s fridge is microwave-cookable or takeout leftovers. A jug of orange juice sits in the back, spoiled. Making a face, Guan Shan pulls out the carton of milk which is, fortunately, not spoiled and pours himself a glass.

This isn’t the first time Guan Shan’s been in his apartment, but he’s never been here in the peace and quiet, without anyone distracting him. He wanders over to the windows with his glass, crossing his arms over his stomach. It’s a gorgeous view, to see all the lights outside. In the day, there must be so much life brimming the streets.

He looks back around the bare apartment, empty and dead. It’s so big, yet there’s almost nothing around, nothing personal. Some boxes stacked against the wall, clothes tossed over the back of the couch, a book haphazardly left open on the floor. Then, He Tian, in the middle of his over-sized bed, normally such an imposing figure but so small in this setting.

Thunder rumbles overhead, and Guan Shan takes a seat in front of the window. Rain begins to pitter-patter against it, bending the little lights outside. The glass protects him from the water, but a calm washes over him all the same.

Fuck, it’s actually nice here. He’s never really gotten that impression, though, since He Tian’s always annoying the hell out of him when he’s over.

As far as Guan Shan has seen, He Tian doesn’t like being here. If how he treats the apartment is any indication, he obviously doesn’t feel very connected to it. He’s always trying to get away from it, at Guan Shan’s or just out. Guan Shan assumes it’s because of his family issues that he won’t talk about it; not that Guan Shan cares, because he doesn’t.

It doesn’t look like he’ll be able to get home any time soon.

A loud clap of thunder bounces off the walls, rattling the windows. There’s a muffled noise halfway between a grunt and a moan from the bed, and the sound of fabrics sliding against each other. Speak of the devil.

Guan Shan glances over to make sure He Tian’s not vomiting out his organs or seizing. He’s not, but he _is_ pushing himself up on his hands, blinking unfocused eyes at the dark windows. When he spots Guan Shan sitting on the ground in front of them, his brow furrows.

He Tian slips out of bed, pushing his hair out of his face, and pads towards the kitchen. “What are you still doing here?” he asks, pausing by the fridge.

The audacity of this guy! Guan Shan had taken care of him, brought him home and bandaged him up, and that’s the first thing he says when he wakes up again. Not even a thank you. Standing with his empty glass, Guan Shan walks to the kitchen to put it in the dishwasher.

“Didn’t want it to be my fault if you had an aneurysm in your sleep and died or something,” Guan Shan mumbles with a shrug.

“Aw, you do care.” Guan Shan can’t see his face, but he knows he’s smiling that stupid smile of his.

With his back to him, Guan Shan scoffs. “Fuck off. Since you’re not dying or dead, I guess I’ll take off.”

Suddenly, there’s a naked chest slumped over his back, heavy arms wrapped around his shoulders. He Tian’s hot breath blows against his ear as he says, “You know what, I’m actually not feeling that great. I think you’ll need to stay, just in case.”

Red hot embarrassment burns Guan Shan’s cheeks. “Get-get off me, you bastard!” He justles underneath He Tian, elbowing his exposed side.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

The weight disappears. Chills running up his spine and with a sudden sense of shame, Guan Shan turns to see He Tian leaning heavily against the island, hand clutching his purple side. His sharp gaze holds Guan Shan in place, halting his hands in the air as he reaches out to touch him.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to do that.” Images of dislodged ribs tearing through tissue and muscle flash through Guan Shan’s mind, and he really wishes he’d forced He Tian to go to a hospital. “Are you okay?”

He Tian’s eyes drift from Guan Shan’s hands to his face, mouth screwed in a grimace. Mo Guan Shan can’t pin down exactly what the look means, but it niggles at the back of his head. Without a word in response, He Tian opens the fridge to pull out the milk. He doesn’t bother to even get a glass and drinks strait from the carton.

Guan Shan almost gags. “Gross. Do you… ever use a glass?”

Pausing, He Tian eyes Guan Shan considerately. He lowers the carton and a slow grin spreads on his face. “What are you worried about, Momo? It’s not like we’ve never swapped spit before,” he drawls with a suggestive tone Guan Shan doesn’t like at all.

Just like that, it seems He Tian has forgotten that Guan Shan just accidently tried to rearrange his insides. He frowns and turns away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, despite his reddening ears saying otherwise.

He wanders back to the window, crossing arms in front of him as he looks out. The rain that was so gentle a few minutes earlier now beats against the glass. Footsteps sound behind him and the weight of He Tian’s head drops on his shoulder. He Tian doesn’t grab him, doesn’t try to hold him, only rests his chin on him.

Guan Shan’s entire world focuses down on that simple contact. He Tian stands so close, he can feel the heat from his bare chest. Warmth pools in Guan Shan’s stomach and his heartrate picks up. He stays quiet, not offering conversation, and hopes He Tian can’t sense the budding turmoil within him. His mind tells him to push He Tian away, but his body won’t move, can’t move.

Instead, he continues to gaze out the window, eyes following the taillights of a car travelling down the street below. This feels all too intimate: the two of them standing together in the dark, barely touching but itching for more contact, listening to the sounds of their own breathing.

Guan Shan wants to say that this feels wrong, but he can’t. For all the fighting that the pair of them do, Guan Shan can’t help but fit with He Tian. Like puzzle pieces, they fit together. It took a little effort, at first. But now, Guan Shan would feel a little less whole without He Tian in his life. It’s strange, and terrifying, but also breathtaking and makes his heart beat a little harder.

Next to his ear, He Tian lets out a deep breath. Guan Shan can’t see him, but he’s sure he’d have no more luck figuring out what he’s thinking if he could. He would call him a closed book, but he isn’t. He Tian never hides anything, not really. He wears his emotions on his sleeves, good or bad. It’s simply that Guan Shan can’t ever figure him out

He’s an open book, just written in a different language.

“Why didn’t you want to go to a hospital?” Guan Shan whispers, hesitant to break the delicate peace between them. It’s not so often they can be this way, away from prying eyes. Yet, still, Guan Shan can’t get rid of this thought.

The weight against his shoulder vanishes, and He Tian plops onto the hardwood in his peripheral. Guan Shan joins him on the floor, crisscrossing his legs and leaning back on his hands.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not like I’m in trouble with the cops, or anything. My brother’ll just beat my ass if he finds out I got into another fight. I kinda-uh… told him I’d stop getting into fights. I go to a hospital and they’ll call him.”

That wasn’t exactly what Guan Shan was thinking, but he’d rather have He Tian believe that’s what he was thinking about, and not how much he already misses He Tian’s warmth against him. “Why make promises you know you can’t keep?”

He Tian smirks and shakes his head gently. “Fuck you. I can stop fighting if I want to, I just didn’t want to,” he asserts, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye.

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. “And what’s he gonna say when he sees these nice juicy bruises you got?” he asks, prodding his bare, purple side with his index finger, eyebrows raised.

Swatting at his hand, He Tian warns without much conviction, “You’re tryna die, aren’t you?”

“Just sayin’,” Guan Shan responds with a shrug. “They’re kind of hard to miss.”

He Tian stretches his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands and sending a smug smile to Guan Shan. “You spend a lot of time ogling my chest, Mo? I can’t say I’m surprised, but I also can’t say I’m not flattered,” he jokes, flashing his teeth with a glint in his eyes

“Shut the fuck up, you bastard,” Guan Shan threatens, though it’s undercut by the smile pulling at his lips. “No, I have _not_. Don’t get a fat head.”

“I think my head’s the right size,” He Tian says, but he’s laughing.

Rolling his neck to loosen it, Guan Shan huffs. It’s closing in on four-thirty. In a few hours, the sun would come up and he’d have to figure out how to explain this to his mother. “Why’d you even call me? Why not call,” he pauses to think. “I’d make a suggestion, but you don’t have any fucking friends. No wonder you called me.”

“You’re pushing it,” He Tian warns without much heat. “Fucker hit me in the head hard as fuck. I don’t know if you could tell from the way I couldn’t really form coherent sentences, but I was kind of out of it.”

“What was the fight about this time, huh?” Guan Shan challenges, remembering all the times He Tian picked fights with him over little things. He’s loose with his fists, that’s certain, and maybe this fight had just a little more bacon than the pan could handle.  “Someone look at you the wrong way?”

“Ha-ha,” he says without humor. “Very witty. No. It was some dumb shit.”

“Oh, no doubt. But what was it?”

“Are those the studs I gave you?” He reaches up and touches Guan Shan’s ear, gentle against the soft skin.

Guan Shan flinches and pushes him away, covering his ear self-consciously. There’s no hiding or avoiding the fact that he _is_ wearing the studs He Tian gave him. He said he would, but it’s still embarrassing for it to be pointed out.

“Don’t avoid the question. What’d they do? Didn’t move out of the way when you walked past? Just too ugly to be in your presence?” Guan Shan suggests, half-joking.

“C’mon, I wouldn’t beat someone up because they’re ugly,” He Tian said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean, I hang out with you a lot and I barely beat you up at all, anymore.”

Broken ribs be damned, Guan Shan pushes him over, dodging retaliatory swings, and holds him down. “First of all, fuck you. And, also, I never got beat up, fucker, you just fought dirty,” he spits through He Tian’s laughing.

When Guan Shan lets him up, He Tian chuckles, “Gosh, what a temper. I was just joking, little Mo, you’re very pretty.”

“Whatever,” Guan Shan waves off both verbally and physically. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”

He Tian falls quiet. He wants to look at him, but forces his eyes away. Thunder claps outside and, almost imperceptibly, He Tian’s hand twitches. A light flickers on in an apartment across the street, catching Guan Shan’s eye. A man, disheveled from sleep, steps in front of the window with a fussy baby dressed in pink on his hip.

Swaying with the baby, the man’s lips form unheard words meant only for his daughter. The baby, who’d been beating her tiny fists against his chest, calms and looks up to him. His face brightens with a smile, and she returns it in kind. He lifts the baby up over his head, to the baby’s delight, and then draws her close again. As he steps away from the window and out of sight, he presses a kiss to the crown of her head.

The light switches off.

When Guan Shan looks over to He Tian, he’s already watching him. His eyes catch, and he can’t remember when He Tian moved so close to him. His expression is so blatantly open, but Guan Shan can’t, for the life of him, read it. It’s right there for him to see, but he doesn’t know what it means.

As he swallows, He Tian’s Adam’s apple bobs, and Guan Shan’s mouth is suddenly dry. Dark eyes glance down, to his lips, then back up. That nameless look draws Guan Shan in, body and soul, and he feels himself sinking.

Something out the window catches He Tian’s eye and Guan Shan lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He’s going crazy, he must be, because he almost thought He Tian was going to…

“He was just some fucker looking to get beat up. Kept bothering some middle school girls, being a creep, so I told him to fuck off and he swung at me. One of his friends pulled out a baseball bat,” he says in a low voice, gaze falling to the ground.

“…Fuck,” Guan Shan comments, because it’s the only thing he can think of. “Do… Do you know who the guys were. You could go to the police or…”

“No, Mo, I don’t know who they were. I don’t often hang out with pedophiles,” he jokes drily. “I can’t go to the police; my brother’ll find out.”

Guan Shan’s brow knits. “What the fuck? They coulda killed you. Who gives a fuck if your brother knows?”

Closing his eyes, He Tian shakes his head. “You don’t understand. He can’t-“

Guan Shan’s brow knits. “What the fuck? They coulda killed you. Who gives a fuck if your brother knows?”

Closing his eyes, He Tian shakes his head. “You don’t understand. He can’t-“

“Yeah, I don’t understand,” he argues, hot annoyance flaring in his chest, “’cause you won’t fucking tell me. I mean, your brother’s pretty terrifying, but I don’t think h-“

“I don’t want to have to leave again.”

He Tian’s voice is quiet, low, but it stops him in his tracks. If Guan Shan hadn’t heard it himself, he wouldn’t have been able to tell he said anything at all. Stretched out on the floor, he’s almost completely relaxed. Yet, his words were so vulnerable, so careful.

After a moment, Guan Shan asks with a tone matching his, “What do you mean? Why would you have to leave?”

He Tian rolls his neck and presses his chin to his chest. Suddenly, he looks uncomfortable in his own skin. “He… My….” The words are hard for him to find, but Guan Shan waits patiently.

He takes a breath. “If it weren’t for my brother, I wouldn’t be here right now. My… father wants me to… live with him and my brother’s the only reason he lets me stay here,” he tells Guan Shan, soft and exposed in a way Guan Shan hasn’t seen him before.

Guan Shan doesn’t say anything at first. This may be the most He Tian has discussed his family, beyond what Guan Shan already knows. “What does that have to do with you getting into fights?” he asks.

“He Cheng’s sick of getting calls from the school and hospitals. He said if I get into another fight, I’ll have to go back to my dad’s and I don’t…” He closes his eyes, not bothering to finish his statement.

Guan Shan’s a little lost. He thinks of his own dad, in prison. He Tian doesn’t know how good he has it, to be able to see his father without bulletproof glass and a cold plastic phone between them. Guan Shan can’t claim to know He Tian’s father, and he’s had every impression of someone sinister from the guy, but only from what He Tian’s said.

And Guan Shan knows even He Tian can be a bit tendentious. No matter what, He Tian’s father is still just that: his father. Fathers can’t help but love their children. That’s, like, biological.

In a small voice, hesitant to overstep, Guan Shan suggests, “Why don’t you want to go see him? I mean, maybe he… misses you or something.” The floor is suddenly very interesting.

The laugh He Tian lets out is cold, cynical, and his grin matches. “The fucker doesn’t miss me. He just hates that I don’t do what he says.”

Then again, if the guy raised kids like He Tian and He Cheng, maybe there’s something wrong with him.

Guan Shan’s heart aches for his father. It aches for the bedtime stories, the bad jokes, even the scolding. It aches for the kisses that used to be pressed against his forehead that he hated so much then, but misses so horribly, now.

Whether it’s because of his probable concussion or a testament to how their relationship has developed, He Tian’s showing Guan Shan a face he probably doesn’t even show his own brother. He’s letting himself be vulnerable, and to Guan Shan of all people. Most likely not the best candidate for a listening ear, at least not in the sense that he can comfort him. Guan Shan can listen, but he never knows how to react.

When Guan Shan was younger, his mother used to tell him to open up to people. “You have to learn to let people in,” she’d said. “I know it’s hard, and so scary, but if you’re going to live surrounded by four walls all your life, open the door for people. Those four walls are no fun without someone to share them with.”

“But I have you,” he’d said. She’d smiled and shook her head and told him it’s different. He didn’t understand then, but maybe he understands now, here. He Tian makes him want to unlock the door.

He isn’t sure how to be vulnerable, but figures now is as good a time to start as any.

“My dad’s in prison,” he tells him, because that’s the only thing that feels right to say. But really, when someone’s offering you a piece of themselves, something raw and exposed, there’s nothing right to say. The ground becomes unsteady. “He almost got my mom and I killed.”

The only option that feels remotely fitting is to offer this, these razor-sharp memories, dredged up from corners meant to be forgotten. To expose yourself. To level the playing field. To meet it and return it in full.

That look Guan Shan can’t place has found its way back onto He Tian’s face and Guan Shan enjoys illiteracy no more than he had before. Beneath his skin, his jaw works.

 “I guess we’ve both got pretty bad daddy issues, huh?” Guan Shan jokes, sending a small smile He Tian’s way.

He smiles, slicing the tension to pieces, and just like that, Guan Shan’s heartrate picks up and calms down all in the same beat. “Like two fuckin’ peas.”

He’s on his feet, padding towards his bed. “Fuck,” he says with a tired voice, kneading his bruised side. “I need a smoke.”

From the backpack on the end of the bed, he fishes out a pack of cigarettes. Guan Shan glances outside, to where the rain still beats against the window with a fury, then cranes his neck to watch He Tian with his mouth twisted into a frown. “Are you even allowed to smoke those in here?”

“Who’s going to stop me? You?” His tone and self-satisfied grin suggest he’d made a funny joke.

Guan Shan climbs to his feet. With the Bic he’d stored inside the pack, He Tian lights the cigarette hanging between his teeth. “You just got the shit beat out of you,” Guan Shan asserts.

“Even more of a reason to smoke.”

When he shoves the pack back into the pocket of his backpack, Guan Shan walks over and plucks the cigarette from his lips. He’s not sure what makes him do it, but He Tian has that effect on him. Like wearing the studs He Tian gave him and getting up at two in the morning for him, he makes Guan Shan do things he normally wouldn’t, and it’s as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

The stunned look on He Tian’s face (finally, an expression he can recognize) is enough of a reward, but the smugness in Guan Shan’s chest quickly disappears when he’s leveled with a fatal look.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, little Mo.”

As scared as the statement makes Guan Shan, he casually shrugs and places the cigarette between his own lips. A taunt, really. It’s not like he actually wants to commit to lifelong health problems. That’s He Tian’s self-destructive gig.

With a solid shove, Guan Shan’s back meets the sheets of He Tian’s bed, and he freezes in shock. He Tian straddles his hips, trapping one of his hands over his head. He Tian’s free hand catches the cigarette from Guan Shan’s mouth and reclaims it with his own. He takes a puff and blows the smoke into Guan Shan’s face. He coughs as the smoke burns his nose and he struggles against He Tian’s hold, pressing the hand that isn’t trapped against He Tian’s chest.

Now, he’s all too conscious of the dark bruises marring He Tian’s body. He won’t be so forgiving the next time Guan Shan’s reflexes send a swing at one of the purple marks. So, he presses his hand against the one spot that isn’t bruised, a few inches below He Tian’s right collarbone. The muscle tenses under his fingers.

“That’s sad, Mo. I’m half-dead and I could still kick your ass,” he drawls, grinning that stupid self-satisfied smile at him.

“Shut up,” Guan Shan mutters through gritted teeth, but his voice isn’t as firm as he means it to be.

Heat from He Tian’s skin seeps into his palm, but he feels it in his stomach. He swallows through the thickness in his throat. Suddenly and inexplicably, Guan Shan can’t pull his focus away from the smooth curve of He Tian’s neck and the pressure of He Tian’s thighs on either side of his hips.

Oblivious to Guan Shan’s struggle, He Tian dips his head closer, that devious grin of his growing wider. His voice pitches low. “Why don’t you make me?”

Rain pounds against the glass, and He Tian’s breath fans over Guan Shan’s overheated skin. The lit end of the cigarette glows brighter when he takes a puff, and Guan Shan’s eyes catch on his tongue when it darts out to wet his upper lip. Rather than being blown into his face, the smoke drifts slowly, languidly past his lips and climbs into the air.

He Tian frowns, his brow furrowing, at Guan Shan’s sudden complaisance and releases his wrist. He sits back on Guan Shan’s hips, taking a deep hit form his cigarette. Guan Shan pushes himself up on his elbows, hoping his cheeks are as flushed as he feels.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him for waking Guan Shan up at two in the morning. Fuck him for making him feel bad enough to take care of him. Fuck him for confusing the hell out of him. Fuck him for making Guan Shan actually think about fucking him.

White hot irritation flashes in Guan Shan’s chest. Impulsively, against his better interest, he snatches the cigarette from He Tian and shoves the burning end into the sheets. He Tian seizes his wrist, but not before a hole is burned clean through.

“Smoking’s gonna kill you,” he says, like he’s an actor in a shitty b-rated action movie.

“Yeah?” He Tian threatens, “well _I’m_ gonna kill _you_.”

Guan Shan pushes himself up onto his hands until he’s almost upright, forcing He Tian to lean his weight back further down Guan Shan’s body. He wets his lips and watches He Tian’s eyes track the movement. “You can try.”

With a fist full of Guan Shan’s shirt, He Tian leans in close enough for Guan Shan to smell the smoke lingering on his breath. He glances down to the singed hole in the sheets, then back to Guan Shan. The sharp fury from before has simmered down to mild irritation, as is He Tian’s whirlwind moods.

“You’re buying me new sheets,” he says, shoving Guan Shan back onto his elbows. He slips off his lap, to the side, and falls onto his pillows.

Guan Shan sits up, twisting to look at him. “It’s just a little hole. You can barely even see it!” he protests.

“They’re forty-five hundred yuan.”

“Forty-five hun- Are you fucking serious!?”

“I’d like a single payment, but I’d be willing to negotiate monthly installments,” He Tian says, stretching his arms, then settling his hands beneath his head.

Guan Shan studies him. He can’t figure out if he’s being serious or not, but his brain’s still catching up on the situation. Without He Tian on his lap, he almost misses the weight of him, but he’d never admit that in the light of day.

The corner of He Tian’s lips quirks up, barely noticeable, but Guan Shan catches it. “You’re fucking with me,” he huffs, giving He Tian’s knee a shove.

“Your skills of deduction are, truly, incomparable,” He Tian teases, grin spreading across his face. “Don’t worry, they’re only three thousand yuan.”

“Three thou- Holy shit! I wouldn’t have done that if I’d known they cost three thousand fucking yuan! They’re not even soft.” He can’t afford to replace three thousand yuan sheets. He can’t afford three thousand yuan anything. He’ll have to take more shifts at the store, probably miss some school, lose some sleep.

He Tian’s grin disappears. “Hey,” he soothes in a low voice, reaching out to place his hand on Guan Shan’s arm. “I was just kidding. I’m not gonna make you buy me new sheets. You think I haven’t burned these before? You think I give a shit?”

Guan Shan stares at him for a few seconds, then shoves his hand away and mutters, “You’re a fucker.”

He Tian grabs his arm and they tussle, Guan Shan pushing him away and He Tian trying to catch his hands. When he finally gets a hold of both of Guan Shan’s wrists, he pulls him forward, so he falls across He Tian’s chest.

Bracing his hands on either side of him, Guan Shan pushes himself up, but He Tian stops him with a hand on his bicep. “You’re gonna stay, right?” he asks, a little breathless from their wrestle.

Guan Shan halts. “I can’t,” he answers. “My mom…”

He Tian glances out the windows when another clap of thunder sends a flurry of vibrations through the both of them. The bruises on his throat stretch when he rolls his head to the side. Guan Shan has to hold back from reaching out to touch him. It doesn’t seem the storm will let up any time soon.

“Just until the rain stops?” His dark eyes pin Guan Shan in his place, hovering over him. Long fingers inch up his arm, slipping below his sleeve on their path up to his shoulder.

That was already Guan Shan’s plan, to wait for the rain to let up enough for him to bolt and only get a little wet. “Sure,” he concedes, knowing arguing with He Tian is a losing battle. “Until the rain stops.”

He sits up straight, and He Tian’s hand falls away from his shoulder, but his touch remains. Guan Shan rubs his hand over his face and combs his fingers through his hair. He toes off the slippers and bends his knee over the mattress to get more comfortable. He Tian’s eyes are closed when he looks down at him, again.

With the semblance of privacy that gives him, he studies the bruises across He Tian’s torso. Forget his brother, it’ll be hard to hide these from anybody. The angry red marks are stark against his pale skin. Each bruise and scrape is unique, and he wonders, idly, how each one happened.

Guan Shan reaches out, trailing a fingertip along a bruise running across the soft tissue of his side. Slowly, He Tian blinks open his eyes to gaze at him. “What did this?” Guan Shan asks, eyes tracing the outline of the bruise.

He Tian watches his finger for a moment, then drags his eyes back up to his face. Guan Shan can’t meet his eyes. “He kicked me,” he answers.

Sympathetically, Guan Shan’s mouth twists. The image of He Tian on the ground, getting kicked, isn’t one he enjoys imagining. He ghosts his finger over a dark mark on his collarbone. “This?”

He Tian doesn’t bother to look at the bruise he’s referring to. His eyes stick to Guan Shan like glue. “Baseball bat.”

Stomach twisting, Guan Shan wonders how this guy isn’t crying from pain. A normal person would be fucked up, but He Tian isn’t exactly what he’d call ‘normal.’ He grazes his touch over a dark mark on his collarbone. “This?”

“Elbowed me.”

Feather-light, Guan Shan traces his fingertip over the handprint left around his throat, the mark that sickens him the most. He Tian’s throat bobs below his throat. Without needing to be asked, He Tian says. “Held me against a wall.”

Guan Shan glances up to his eyes, but finds a darkness he doesn’t want to confront. Quickly, his gaze drops down to the bruise over He Tian’s jaw. His hand follows it, thumb drifting over the bone, towards his chin.

“Punched me.”

Guan Shan’s thumb meets the dark bruise over his cheekbone, his other fingertips threading into the soft hair framing his face. The shiner stands out in the low light, and Guan Shan feels his eyes on him, but won’t meet them.

“Punched me.” His voice pitches low, almost a whisper, but Guan Shan can feel it in his chest. His hand drops down, the nail of his thumb tracing the curve of his lower lip. They’re parted and his breath dances over Guan Shan’s knuckles. Guan Shan’s own breath has stopped.

His thumb pauses where He Tian’s lip splits, waiting for He Tian to tell him what he wants, even though he’s not entirely sure what that is. When he doesn’t offer an explanation, Guan Shan finally meets his eyes. Drawn into the depths, he gets the sense of falling, deep and fast.

The expression on his face is that which Guan Shan can’t read, but his eyes tell a different story, speak a different language. They speak of heat, and of vulnerability. But, most surprising of all, they speak of confusion and curiosity. Guan Shan doesn’t know how he missed it before.

Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to see it. Maybe he was too scared. Of this, being caught in the intensity of his gaze, like a fly in a spider’s web, about to be devoured.

But he doesn’t feel like he’s trapped, about to be consumed. He just feels like he’s sinking.

“He punched me.”

Guan Shan doesn’t realize his palm is pressed flat against He Tian’s navel until his slender fingers wrap around his wrist. He never takes his eyes off Guan Shan.

“You’re pretty banged up,” Guan Shan says, and it comes out low and raspy.

“Maybe,” He Tian murmurs, pushing himself up on his elbows. “But I’m not a complete cripple. There are still some things I can do perfectly fine.”

Guan Shan swallows, heat pooling in his belly. He’s caught in his eyes, dark and unknown, but promising the adventure of discovery. “And what _are_ those things?” he breathes.

Hooking his hand behind Guan Shan’s head, He Tian pulls him down to close the distance between them. Their noses bump, but He Tian is quick to tilt his head and fix it. He seals their lips, muffling a grunt that almost escapes Guan Shan’s, and his fingers thread through the fine hairs at the base of Guan Shan’s skull.

This is different from the other kisses, the ones He Tian forced on him and the ones they’d hastily stolen, but Guan Shan was too afraid of being caught to enjoy it. There are no prying eyes here. Nobody could walk in at any second and catch them. It’s just Guan Shan and He Tian and a whole lot of tension.

He Tian pushes forward, but leaves enough room for Guan Shan to press back. He’s probably expecting to be pushed away again, as had happened countless times before. But it’s precisely that hesitation that makes Guan Shan want to drive it home.

So, Guan Shan sinks into the embrace, thawing under He Tian’s touch. His eyes flutter shut and he’s reacquainted with the sensation of butterflies, their tiny wings beating against his ribcage. He reaches up, smoothing his hand against the bruise on He Tian’s jaw and pressing back into the kiss.

A warm curl of emotion settles in Guan Shan’s chest as He Tian’s bandaged hand lowers to the back of his neck, tilting his head to get a better angle. His tongue trails along Guan Shan’s lower lip, and he almost parts them for him. Then, he remembers who he is.

He breaks away, pulling at He Tian’s hand, breath heavy and cheeks flushed. He Tian’s brow furrows and he tries to pull him into another kiss, but Guan Shan holds steadfast. He pushes He Tian’s hand away and shakes his head.

“You’re concussed. You’re not thinking straight,” he mumbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He Tian only blinks at him for a few seconds. “Yeah, I’d say I’m thinking pretty gay,” he jokes, though neither his tone nor his expression hint at amusement.

Guan Shan rolls his eyes and moves to climb to his feet, but He Tian catches his wrist. When Guan Shan meets his eyes, they’re carefully guarded, and he hesitates before he says, “You said you’d stay.”

Time and time again, in his own way, He Tian had knocked and knocked on his door, trying to get him to open up. He’d taken sledgehammers to the walls, but Guan Shan had fixed every hole with bricks and mortar. He’s like the third piggy, the best at protecting himself from the big bad wolf.

But He Tian isn’t the big bad wolf. He’s Guan Shan’s friend. And for all his foolishness and absurdity, Guan Shan wants to let him in. He wants to find the key he’d hidden away all those years ago, when he’d locked himself inside, and he wants to open the door. His mom was right: it’s frightening, and difficult, but so are most good things in life. This could be a good thing, too.

He settles back on the sheets, twisting his hand to hold He Tian’s wrist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He Tian shifts over on the bed, patting the spot next to him. Guan Shan considers, for a moment, then lies back beside him. He rests his head on He Tian’s shoulder, and when He Tian’s hand curls around his waist, he doesn’t say anything.

Thunder booms outside and Guan Shan opens the door.

**Author's Note:**

> mgs when ht's been gone awhile: i missed u... thot u'd run off w the circus
> 
> listen he tian's character isn't the easiest to write (but the best characterization of him is def in @fayre's fics. fr go read her shit if u haven't it's incredible)
> 
> i Amn just........... a litle creacher. Thatse It


End file.
